


blood-red wine and rosy cheeks

by EveningTiefling



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, First Crush, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, i only know how to write whumps, i swear this will get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningTiefling/pseuds/EveningTiefling
Summary: This is a super short fic that I wrote to introduce two new characters, very very inspired by the art that @schnetzle_ made of the two of them! we worked together to come up with their personalities but I wrote this from Romeo's perspective because I can't draw.Macabre, original character, red tiefling belongs to @schnetzle_ on TwitterRomeo, original character, pink tiefling belongs to me.
Relationships: Macabre/Romeo (oc)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 183





	1. come back to me

Romeo’s feet are cold.

For days, he has been walking away from his family’s small village temple, searching for the warm glow of another temple that will take him in. Unfortunately, Romeo’s outdated maps and fragile stature have only carried him so far. When snow started to fall, he knew that he was damned.

Alone in the forest, in a valley between two mountains, a few inches of powdery snowfall crunches underneath his feet. He trudges onward, his lantern swinging gently from the top of his walking stick. It was meant to be spring before the sudden snowstorm, the light petaly yellows and pinks of blossomed branches now encased in ice and dusted with bright frost. The sun would be going down soon, and the temperatures would start to drop. He should find town.

In the near distance, he hears a howl-- something unearthly.

_Is this a spirit, come to mock me?_

He wonders, thinking of the shocked and horrified faces of so many patrons coming to the graveyard just late enough to see his long, pale horns. No one is ready to see the Devil haunting the dead. No matter how much he may care for their spirits, and no matter how sweet and softly he lays them to rest, Romeo’s face is a horror to them. 

The howling grows louder. Romeo stops in his tracks, listening as the evening’s wind whistles through the trees and presses icy flicks of snow into his cheeks. _It sounds... Pained_ , he breathes. He listens closer, starting to pace towards the sound. 

_Does something need me?_

  
  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

  
  


Romeo’s feet are like blocks of ice.

The snowfall has picked up, the wind blinding him and nipping at his toes under his thin leather boots. He trudges through, listening for the call. It’s been some time, maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour. 

The calling has stopped. The pink tiefling, nearly white from the cold, peers out into a clearing in the trees, leading down into a ravine. Perhaps the sound of the trickling water has obscured the sound, or it’s the wind, but all he can hear is silence. He starts to descend the steep hill into the ravine, hoping to cross it and continue the path south away from these mountains. Whatever creature called out may have taken care of themselves, or worse, there is some monster here that he should avoid. From further up, he saw a small dark patch of wood at the base of the mountain, and from his clearer vantage point now he can see lights starting to appear within the patch of trees. _A town._

Romeo continues, taking his time to carefully pick over slick stones and mud as the snow collects, leaving deeper and deeper footprints behind him as he descends. Following the rushing water down, down, down the valley, he hears it again, clearer this time. It sounds like howling and gnashing teeth. And a sob.

_Are they... Crying?_

He follows the sound off his path, walking at a faster pace, when he makes it to a bend in the small creek. The water opens to a clearing and a still pond, mostly frozen over, but with great punches and cracks opened up in its surface. Water and blood glint off the white powder and crystalline shards of ice, like something gigantic had thrashed through it in anger or fear. 

And there, in the snow, the silhouette of a figure lays, quiet, just on the edge of the shoreline before the trees. Covered in blood.

Romeo approaches, watching carefully as he gets close enough to make out the figure’s features. They are warm, warm enough to be almost evaporating the snow as it falls, a thin veil of steamsmoke obscuring their form. 

As he gets nearer, he slows his pace, stopping only a few feet away. 

There, in a pool of blood contrasted against the pure white snow, in a tangle of ripped furs and smeared dirt. There, not just blood.. But red skin, long dark hair, and horns. A tiefling. 

  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

Romeo’s breath catches in his throat, the powerful figure laid bare on this unforgiving patch of ground. Approaching cautiously, Romeo starts to undo his traveling bag from his back, setting down the lantern that guides him and casting his scythe aside. The large tiefling lays nearly facedown, one arm stretched outward and above his head, the other crumpled up underneath his barrel chest. The round, tense hunk of his shoulder burns with heat as Romeo hovers over him, assessing the great bite torn into the muscle. Thankfully, the temple taught him enough through tending to the dead that he knew this injury was likely not the killing blow, but the blood loss is apparent. The tiefling must be even darker red and even more powerful. Quickly, but with patience, Romeo reaches out a single finger to press into the pulse point beneath the figure’s chiseled jaw. The taught, ropelike muscles of his neck beat no pulse. 

_No, no, no no no._

Romeo stands again, returning for his lantern, and comes back to kneel beside him. Even faster, almost shaking, he assesses further damage. Another bite on his knotted thigh, okay. Abrasions on knuckles and knees. It will be difficult to turn him over, knowing that he is just over half the size of this man, maybe less.Using all his might, Romeo turns the massive figure over to his front, wrapping his arm around and under, barely reaching to the center of his chest. There, beneath his heart. A single tooth impales his ribcage, blood unclotted from injury. The man’s mouth gapes, his eyes shut in a grimace, but he is still warm. Quickly, tears begin to well up in Romeo’s eyes, worrying he is too late. 

_Is this you. Is this how people see us... How people see you._

_Please. Let me save you._

Romeo leans down closer. _Please, please._ Romeo notices the curve of his nose, the bow of his lips… the well in the center of his collarbone, as he traces a hand down the other man’s chest. He is able to work his fingers around the tooth, finding purchase and reddening his pale pink fingertips. He nearly faints. He’s never done this. _I have to help._

Slowly, and with a prayer, Romeo lifts his lantern above the tiefling’s head, and pulls. Romeo feels his vision go white, the healing magic flowing through him like a shooting star. He feels the tooth release, and he lets it fall from his fingertips, pressing his palm beneath the heart. Pressing his entire weight into the larger man’s chest, careening over him, straddling him, Romeo bows his head in pain. The pain of the injury flashes before his eyes, and in his heart squeezes the anguish as this creature must have drawn his last breath. He feels defiance, he feels duty, and he feels... Loneliness. It chokes him like brambles, filling his chest and lungs, stinging like the ice and the whipping wind. He cries out, feeling his own unloved journey entwine with this creature’s pain. The terror of dying alone impales him like a spike in the chest. The feeling overcomes him as he collapses, touching his forehead to the tiefling’s collarbone, tears streaming down his cheeks and falling onto the warm body beneath him, lantern held in his other hand like a sigil to the heavens. 

_Please._

_Come back to me._

Romeo lifts his head after the spell has passed, and looks down at his pale hand still pressed into the tense red flesh. He feels the heartbeat return, weak, like a newborn foal. He releases, sighing, taking this moment to wipe his tears and crawl away, only looking again at the figure when his vision has cleared. 

The red teifling’s hair falls in tangles around his head, like a dark halo in the fresh fallen snow. Small snowflakes adorn his hair, his cheeks, his eyelashes. From his parted, dark lips, a light puff of breath escapes, revealing pointed teeth. He is stirring. 

Romeo has never _felt_ beauty. He has spent his entire life avoiding mirrors, but he knows he is small, and probably weak for his age. He knows that he is quick to cry. He knows that aesthetic beauty exists, in the way that he finds death and flowers beautiful. He has seen beautiful women, and beautiful men, and understood the beauty of life and experience. He knows he was turned away for his ugliness, and set to roam the earth to atone for it.

But this tall crimson apparition has formed a knot in Romeo’s stomach. Reckless, and dirtied, and laid out in the moonlight, having fought what must have been one of the largest direwolves this side of the mountain, if not an entire pack of them, this creature’s power is harrowing. If he didn’t believe that horns were something powerful then, he believes it now. 

Romeo moves slowly, collecting his things, to kneel over the tiefling’s face again. It will likely take him until morning to wake, even if the healing has returned him to health, the exhaustion must have taken its toll. His eyes pass over his red lips, the hollows of his cheeks, the dip of his waist... Overwhelmed, Romeo's throat closed up again, raw from crying.

He would save this man’s life again, as many times as he wished. He would have died there, knock-kneed on the frozen ground, if it meant this one could live. He will stay here for the night, and lead him to town if he must. 

The scarlet tiefling’s eyes open with a start, revealing shimmering gold in the weak lantern light. 

Romeo swallows. He is frozen like a block of ice, held captive by the most powerful, terrifying, alluring devil he had ever seen. 

_You’re beautiful._


	2. kindling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romeo learns his name, and a lot more about him. 
> 
> less triggers in this one, plus shared bed trope. SHARED BED TROPE
> 
> I am hooked and yes i will continue, I guess this is a ~linear story now~ 
> 
> please let me know if youd like to see anything specific!!! IDK I WANT THESE BOYS TO GROW UP STRONG AND HEALTHY.

Romeo holds his breath in the icy air while the seconds tick by. 

And tick by. 

And tick by.

The red tiefling has opened their eyes, but he has not yet seen him sitting there. They’re moving slowly, going through the motions of waking up--first they’re blinking, then rubbing their eyes, then rolling onto their side and running a hand through their hair. Laying there. _It must hurt._

_Should I say something? I should say something._

Romeo shifts uncomfortably a few feet away, sitting on his heels with his hands worrying in his lap. The barely-healed figure next to him rustles, sighing, back turned to him. 

“H-hello,” Romeo breathes. It’s swallowed immediately by the wind, which has picked up quite a bit, rustling the trees around them and shaking the light snowfall off their branches. 

“Hello?” Romeo questions again, a little bit louder this time. 

Slowly, almost… annoyed, the red tiefling turns his head. 

“Who the fuck are you.”

The red tiefling’s eyes are like a furnace. His gaze is hot and intense, and Romeo quivers a bit. _I think this is what that direwolf felt_ , he thinks to himself. 

“I said, who the **Fuck** are you.” 

The creature extends an arm and places it on the ground at their side, lifting his body weight off the ground, a massive bicep curling clearly as they right themselves and push to kneel. They sputter as the muscle wrapped around their shoulder quivers, shaking at the realization that the hunk of flesh suddenly missing has impaired their movement. They freeze, their profile contrasted against the snowdrift as they exhale, a puff of breath visible in the air as they re-focus. 

“You were hurt. I healed you,” says Romeo. He doesn’t remember his voice being so squeaky. 

“Is it dead?” They ask, pulling in their knees to crouch, joints snapping.

“Is what dead?” Romeo’s eyes flicker from injury to injury, knowing there was at least one wolf tooth, but he could be wrong. There was… _a lot of flesh,_ Romeo thought. _A lot of blood._

_And why isn’t he *dressed*?_

“The fucking direwolf. Queen of the pack. I was fighting it and I bit off a little bit more than I could chew, facing six at once. But the biggest one, she was a biter.” 

Romeo kneels forward and collects the single direwolf tooth off the ground, then gently passes it over to the unnamed tiefling. 

“ **BITCH!** ” they exclaim, beating the ground with a single fist as they laugh with triumph. Romeo swears that the earth shakes. He recoils slightly at the sound, suddenly aware of the biting cold and the dark only getting blacker above them. He rises, starting to collect his things, re-situating his pack on his back and hooking his lantern over his scythe. 

“I was traveling towards that town, over there,” Romeo motions with the staff of his weapon, indicating the now bright cluster of lights situated at the very base of the hilly landscape.

“I found you, and you looked trashed. I thought you were a wild animal,” Romeo says, trailing off at the end. 

“I’ve always been a wild animal, sweetheart. Thanks for patching me up. I gotta go.” Their smile is like a set of kitchen knives. They rise to a squat, wincing at the half-healed gash in their thigh.

“If you’re heading into town, then we’re walking in the same direction,” Romeo speaks up a bit.

The red tiefling finally rises to his full height. To say they were imposing was to call a flower “nice.” They loomed over Romeo, stretching and grimacing as their barely-cauterized wounds shifted. They were nearly as broad as Romeo is tall, honestly, with deep red skin, twisting horns, and inky dark hair that seemed to cascade on endlessly. It fell in pin-straight curtains along their hulking figure, all the way down to their calloused hands somehow adorned in long, pointed black fingernails. Their clothing was in shreds, which did nothing to shield them from the cold, but they didn’t seem to care. It must have been barely clothing to start. Whatever demonic force was holding this creature together was strong enough to topple six direwolves alone, and Romeo knew that they abused it. 

  
  


“Who are you again?” They smiled again, brushing debris out of their long hair. 

  
  


“R-Romeo,” he stutters, shaky but standing underneath their amber gaze. “And you are?”

  
  


The figure looked down their nose at him. 

“Nah, you don’t want to know me. I’ll ruin you. Have a nice day,” They say, turning and trudging several steps down the ravine. 

Romeo considers his position for a moment before he speaks, heart quickening with the sudden realization that *he* was now going to be the one alone in a pool of blood in the middle of the mountains.

“Well, we are walking in the same direction, and if it were wolves you were hunting, your blood… you need bandages,” Romeo asserts, striding up to his side. He tries to walk taller. _You will not die again. Please._

“Oh hun. You’re adorable, aren’t you.”

Romeo looks up at them, lips pursed in a sour pucker at the idea that he was too soft to be addressed. He may be kind, but he would at least see that this creature was properly healed after spending his energy on them. 

“I’m realizing that you aren’t going to take a no,” they mutter, eyes forward as they both walk, Romeo faster and lighter on his feet than the long, pained strides of the larger tiefling. 

“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” Romeo admits, half-smiling. It sounded less miserable in his head. _Expertly executed, you sound like such a capable adventurer._ He grimaces, tripping forward. 

“Well,” They say louder, their face an amiable if distrusting smile. “It’s slim pickins out here, and I tend to keep moving. So when the morning comes you’re out. Also I almost died. I need a bed, and I’m going to the inn. Bed and beer. Do you drink beer?”

  
  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

  
  


They make it into town, the large tiefling starting to noticeably turn heads as the area gets more and more populated. Romeo has not made very much small talk, but his companion didn’t seem to want it anyway. They seemed to be very focused on the walking part, understandable considering their condition, so Romeo has been considering offering further healing spells if they are at all amiable to it. Romeo's shoes and the hem of his robes are covered in tightly packed snow, his hair soaking wet and coated with ice. His cheeks feel raw from the wind, but the slightly warmer temperature in town and allure of an inn is promising enough to push him forward.

Romeo learns that their name is Macabre. They had smiled widely, eyes narrowing and grin curling up their cheeks as they said their name. Romeo was, he was sure, supposed to be intimidated, but he felt the same flutter in his stomach that he had felt before. His smile was like sparks.

They lead him to an inn, get changed, and come back downstairs in a simple black robe somehow racier than the shreds they initially were wearing: nearly sheer black, with lace at the trim, tall boots fastened up past their knees and a few additional pieces of gold jewelry glinting along their fingers. Romeo took a seat at a solitary table near the bar, honestly overwhelmed by it. _God._

  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

  
  
  


The night goes on. 

  
  


Macabre smiles so much. He grins as he orders drink after drink, Romeo sitting alongside him and finishing a humble dinner of soup and crusty bread while his companion talked up everyone in the room. Before the night was over, Macabre had determined at least 3 available jobs in town, been paid for one job in advance, sold the direwolf tooth, and had procured a hastily drawn map of the town on a handkerchief produced from the bosom of the most attractive barmaid. Watching him work the room was stunning, but not a mystery at all. It was clear that Macabre found himself in exactly the right places, when they intended to be there, and not a second sooner. It was no mystery that Romeo had found him in the nick of time, lying in the snow. Macabre had drawn him there, somehow. Romeo was sure of it. 

And Macabre is drinking. Heavily. He’s not stumbling, not slurring, but the sheer volume of alcohol that the giant tiefling has consumed would likely strike Romeo dead. About halfway through the night, Macabre had shoved a tankard of ale into Romeo’s hand.

“Drink it. It’s on me. As a favor.” They wink.

Romeo grasped the stein with both hands, curling his fingers around it and peering into the liquid. It at least smelled familiar. This was his first beer in a tavern, actually. 

“Thank you,” Romeo says, inclining his head in appreciation. 

“Are you sleeping here? You should sleep here.”

Romeo takes a gulp, the cold ale oddly comforting. He’s thankful for the barrier between the gold gaze staring, heavy-lidded at him. The sinful grin accompanying the eyes is not helping either. 

Romeo looks down slightly, inclining his head in agreeance. “I’ll sleep here, yeah. I um, just haven’t much gold.”

“You’re harmless, aren’t you. Adorable. You can stick around.” Macabre had something in his eyes that Romeo couldn’t quite place, but he was enamored anyway. I guess they’d picked up on his silence though, because they just kept talking.

“Well, if you’ve never split a room and board. It’s cheaper.”

And he didn’t know how to feel about that. 

💮💮💮💮💮

  
  


After what felt like another ten tankards of ale, Macabre decided it was time for bed. He motioned to the barmaid, pointed his thumb at both himself and Romeo, and winked. The barmaid nodded and returned wordlessly with an additional bedroll, pillow, and blanket for them. 

“You can bunk with me. I already had a room, so it’s not an extra charge. You can split the night with me instead.”

“Thank you, truly,” Romeo says softly. “I promise I won’t be a disturbance.”

“Honestly, you’re so quiet it borders on frightening. It’s cute.” Macabre giggles, standing up to leave with a slight wobble. 

Macabre leads, creaking up a flight of rickety stairs, Romeo adjusting to the dim candlelight relatively quickly. The wind whistles past the windows along the hall, the temperature turning colder and colder as they near the end of the hall. 

Macabre leans on the door to his room, turning the knob with two fingers slowly. He leans back and grins as he twists the handle, holding open the door for Romeo to step inside.

“So glad you decided to stay,” they drawl, gliding into the room as best a _definitely_ drunk six-foot-three tiefling could possibly glide. 

As he takes in the room, Romeo realizes

there is one bed.

There is only one bed.

Romeo has never shared a bed. 

He feels like a ray of frost has impaled him where he stands, the already-cold tiefling in still-damp clothes now completely frozen and blinking in the dim light. 

Macabre does nothing to comfort him, completely turned away. They stride across the room, slowly pulling rings off their fingers, leaning with one palm onto the dresser and sitting halfway on its edge, long legs poised to the side. They start removing earrings, then… sliding straps off their shoulders. _He’s undressing._

Romeo swallows, crossing the room at a frantic pace, putting a bed between himself and the man he just met. _WE JUST MET!_

  
  


They are completely topless at this point, dress shed from their shoulders and shimmied _sinfully_ down to their hips. The muscles in his shoulders flex as they move to untie their laced boots, and when he rises at the waist to pull at the heel of a boot, Romeo notices the shine of gold rings through their nipples.

Romeo ducks, starting to unroll his blanket on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He usually slept on a thin mat at home, so the floor would be just fine. _Everything’s fine!_ He thinks to himself.

The red tiefling continues in a cooing tone. 

“So how did you want to do this, sweetheart?” 

Romeo looks up, stopping as he places a pillow at the head of his makeshift sleeping arrangement. 

They’re nearly completely nude, save for that scrap of black slung across their hips, hair draped artfully over their chest. 

“Oh. Well uh, that’s the first time someone’s done that,” Macabre notes. His eyebrows are raised quizzically, their smile teasing. 

Romeo stutters, and Macabre responds with a laugh. 

“I know I said I was a wild animal but I wasn’t expecting the floor just yet.”

Romeo is completely struck, frozen, unresponsive. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open in an attractive “oh”, he’s sure. 

“You’re not--oh, oh shit. So sorry,” Macabre says. 

“It’s perfectly fine!!” Romeo squeaks out. He’s surprised that his voice doesn’t crack. It’s very, very cold in this room. When did it get so cold? His skin was on fire, how the _hell_ was he so cold.

“Well, I uh. Usually assume if anyone is going to help me it’s for good reason.” 

“Oh…. no I didn’t. I didn’t help you for that. You were just hurt,” Romeo replies. 

“Well. You know.” Macabre moves to get into bed, and thankfully his long sheets of hair hide the uh, finer points of his anatomy until his legs and midsection are covered by blankets. 

“Yeah I… I know. People only uh, come back to see me at the temple if they need something. So I guess it’s like that.”

Macabre giggles, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, kinda like that, cutie. Anyway.”

Romeo nods, turning away to slip out of his overclothes, crossing the room quietly to hang them by the window to dry. 

Macabre settles in while he does this, letting the silence pass quietly. They both comment on the cold, covering themselves in their respective blankets, and attempt to settle into their beds. 

Only after a long stretch of silence passes, and Romeo has closed his eyes, Macabre speaks up in a rough but quiet voice. 

“You know, if you get cold. There’s one bed. You can come up here. To sleep. And only to sleep. Obviously,” They mutter.

“Thank you,” whispers Romeo, just as sleep claims his voice, and pulls him under.

💮💮💮💮💮

  
  


In the wee hours of the morning, Romeo wakes up freezing.

He knows that tieflings aren’t necessarily built for the cold, but the floorboards underneath his blanket are soaking all the heat away from him. He can barely feel his feet.

He can hear the red tiefling snoring, and looks up to see him spread out, a single hand dangling off the mattress and over the side where Romeo was asleep.

He considers for a moment what the tiefling said, but the feeling catches in his chest. He curls up under the thin blanket, crossing his arms and tucking his tail up between his legs, trying to keep warm. 

Honestly, he couldn’t see why anyone would keep him around, never the less sleep in their bed for a night. 

He wasn’t worth it. He never was. Back in his family’s temple, at least he had his routines. Woke up in the morning, filled incense burners and lit prayer candles, swept floors, cleaned. Laid those in need to rest. Visited the graveyard and walked row after row, clearing crisp dead leaves from the faces of the grave markers. He devoted his life to caring for the temple’s graveyard, which he supposed was a higher calling. He felt like, maybe, if he was any good at anything in life, at least he could be very good at death. 

There were short interactions with family, and with the merchants that he usually bought supplies with. Most everyone knew his face and his name, but after these short interactions, communications tend to stop. They left him alone, and in his solitude he rang triumphant, every short interaction successfully navigated was rewarded with more hours by himself. He was never bitter about his solitude unless it was a bad day, when the comments or an odd look got to him. People weren’t used to seeing devils on their streets, and hoods only hid so much. He kept to the shadows and mostly worked at night, after sunset, when everyone visiting the back half of the temple had finished their prayers and gone home to their families for dinner. His family would be eating dinner too, somewhere without him. He took his meals alone. As long as the graveyard was looked after, and new deaths could be interred, he was doing his job. 

He was never worth more than he could give.

He just wasn’t worth it.

So why would he be worth it to this man? Why would he matter at all. He came, he found him, he healed him. His usefulness would expire when his gold ran out, and by then Romeo would hopefully have a temple that needed his special skillset and house and feed him enough for him to return to his sad, solitary little life. 

For a moment, Romeo contemplates leaving. 

With downturned eyes, Romeo glances at his robes and boots, still damp and drying by the window. He heard Macabre’s sweet comment in his head.

_“You can come up here. To sleep.”_ Their drawl echoed in Romeo’s ears like sweet slumber.

The crimson one was.. Unexpected. And beautiful. And Romeo had such trouble quantifying why he would share himself so easily. It was definitely compelling, knowing that both of them felt like usefulness was a measure of their value to others. Even before passing out, Macabre perhaps just meant to be useful, like a source of heat… Romeo pushed back the feeling that he may have been interested in him. No one is ever interested in him. 

Romeo thinks of the fresh-fallen snow glittering in Macabre’s hair, and pushes the feeling deeper into his chest, closing his hands around each other in front of him like a prayer.

No. He just said it to be useful. 

Finally, sleep starts to weigh heavy on his bones, but the cold keeps him awake. Shivering, in his little spot on the floor, the warm bed with a sleeping Macabre looks a little less intimidating. 

Maybe.. Just… a little. 

Romeo rises, gathering his tiny pillow and the scant blanket that he had laid out for himself, contemplating what he was about to do.

💮💮💮💮💮

Romeo kneels on the edge of the bed, small blanket lifted, a pillow placed precariously towards the middle as not to encroach on too much space. He slowly lowers his weight onto the mattress, being careful not to disturb Macabre, holding his breath even if he was sure any noise would be drowned out by the sound of his snoring.

Once fully situated underneath the covers, Romeo lays down and squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel Macabre shift beside him, and the snoring quiets a bit. At least the slight temperature change is nice. Romeo tucks his feet up closer to the tiefling behind him, huddling in close for warmth.

He cracks an eye open, turning to face Macabre in bed. In the dim light, their brow furrowed, their chest rising and falling, Macabre looks almost peaceful. Romeo studies their face, their horns… their hair. He thinks of the snow again. He allows himself to get a tiny bit closer, feeling the warmth radiate off their skin. He feels.. oddly safe, even next to someone he met covered in blood.

_I’m glad I healed you._

_I am glad I could be useful._

_You don’t owe it back._

He feels finally tired again, and he closes his eyes, thinking of Macabre’s genuine smile. The sparks he kept feeling were like a razor hitting flint. Sparks, over and over, into a tangle of feelings more fragile than kindling. Until Macabre shifted in his sleep, pulling Romeo in and draping their arm over him. 

Romeo was alight.


	3. mister sandman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry it gets SAD it will get better!!!!

Romeo wakes up warm.

He’s wrapped up in Macabre’s arms, tangled in soft tavern sheets. A single arm is wrapped around his waist, obscuring his ribcage and pressing his back into the warmth of a muscled chest behind him. Another arm dangles above his head, long garnet hair draped over their forearm and falling like satin across the pillowcase. Romeo’s tail is lazily looped around an ankle that isn’t his, and his hands are neatly folded in front of him, resting atop a ruddy forearm. Before he completely comes to, he only thinks of how warm he is despite the chilly air and glowing morning light.

_ I slept in his bed. _

Romeo stiffens as he feels the tiefling behind him start to shift, and he oh so quietly untangles himself, pushing his pillow out of the bed with a soft  _ whump _ , sliding limb after limb out from under the covers and into the snow-cold air. Macabre snores, rolling onto their back, inky hair slipping from their arm as they move to inhabit the warm spot that Romeo was just in. 

_ I slept in his bed!! _

Romeo focuses on his breathing, on making it slow and calm.  _ Go downstairs. Get breakfast. This was just warmth, _ he thinks to himself. 

Romeo starts to dress, pulling on socks and layers, nervous and suddenly very awake in the gray morning light. It must have been about eight bells, later than he usually sleeps, and time for some food and water before he decides where to travel to next. He will have to leave soon, even if traveling with the red tiefling is definitely attractive.  _ It was nothing. It was just warmth.  _

Looking back at the bed at the sleeping Macabre, Romeo sighs. He’s glad that his healing is accelerating the scarring, but in the brighter light he notices the patterns of other scars. There are so many, soft pink slivers across the taught red of their skin, wrought by what Romeo can only imagine are hundreds of other fights and jobs that went better than yesterday with the wolves. 

Romeo thinks for a moment about his own body, laying cold in the snow, with no one to find him.

No one to care.

He shivers.

Macabre looks very warm.

  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

  
  


Downstairs, Romeo is on his second cup of tea when Macabre thunders down the stairs to join him. It felt run of the mill, the way that they sat down and motioned for the innkeeper to fetch them black coffee and bacon. 

Settling in, Macabre starts pouring over pages torn from the bulletin board across the way. They grumble absent-mindedly to themselves and Romeo feels... uninvited from their deliberation, like Macabre is disinterested by his presence. 

_ He doesn’t owe you anything for healing him,  _ he thinks to himself, a bit sadly.  _ But you’re the one who needs the help. It’s experience. _

Romeo moves to finish his tea, brushing crumbs from his front. He would be safer with a companion, and after all, it would be nice to have someone there with him to teach him a thing or two.. His first time away from home ever, and he’s already trying to make friends with the scariest person in the inn. 

_ You **slept** right next to the scariest person in the inn, _ he thinks to himself again. He brushes it off.

Doing odd jobs from a bulletin board seemed… sketchy? But it could prove to be advantageous. If Macabre was any indicator of expertise, it seemed to be the thing to do anyway.

Romeo decides to speak up. 

“I was wondering if… maybe... you had use for a newcomer? I could keep an eye on your wounds, and help you with a small job if you needed the help.”

Romeo is met with silence. 

“ I’m kind of.. new at this,” he says, a halting and wane smile reaching over his lips.  _ You probably don’t. _

Macabre looks up slowly, almost rolling his eyes.

“Do I look like I need a babysitter, sweetheart?” 

“No uh... You don’t. But I thought I could be of assis-”

“You can join me. Just stay out of the way.” Macabre doesn’t even look up from their breakfast again, tearing into their sixth piece of bacon and shuffling papers.

Romeo was shocked at how fast they replied, but even so. He sat there a little smugly, smiling softly into his tea. He took a warm sip, wiggling slightly in his chair, but decided not to ask further questions in case it somehow soured the deal. This would be good for him, and Macabre was definitely not the type to mull over the details, he could tell.

Even so, saving a barbarian from near-death again would be a heavy bargain. 

“There’s a clean-up job back in the mountains. Looks like the client has a minor giant rat problem. We can leave in about an hour if you want. Looks like the recruiter here is offering 50 gold to take care of the vermin,” they say with a boom, still not looking up. 

Some time passes in silence before Macabre gets up to leave. Romeo follows. 

  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

  
  
  


Macabre had described this job as “clean-up,” but it had become an absolute massacre.

Their shoulders flex, swinging a greataxe upwards and back down, splitting the skull of a rat more than half his size with sure-striking glee. They're enjoying it, their legs flexing as they jump, their great feet slamming into the earth. At least twelve giant rats lay in pieces about the cave, and more could be heard scurrying and screeching, their cries echoing off the cavernous walls. Romeo was working overtime, slicing faster with his spiritual weapon than he ever had, stunning a few of the creatures and then reaching out with his magic to make sure that Macabre hit harder, struck swifter, and healing his cuts and scrapes along the way.

_We're working well together_ , Romeo thinks as he sends another rat tumbling. Romeo, mobilizing his small bits of magic to keep Macabre focused on the task at hand. Macabre, splitting through the pack with ease, every single opponent falling like a wheat field to a scythe. The torchlit cave is a massacre. Screaming and squealing bounds off the walls, and Romeo’s breath burns in his lungs.

The final rats encroach, three of them stalking forward. Before Romeo can react, the largest one is leaping towards him with a terrifying squeak.

Romeo is knocked back off his feet, his tail crumpled underneath him with a painful crunch as the air rushes from his lungs. Suddenly there is a snarling animal above him, baring teeth and pressing closer, before it is completely thrown off of him with a great  _ CRACK _ . Romeo feels a gust of wind pass over him as the air splits above him with the forceful cleave of an axe, a trail of blood splattering across his front and spraying him across the face.

Panting, Romeo rights himself, taking in the blood across his front and the pair of legs straddling him, eyes panning slowly upwards. Above him, Macabre looks down at him and smiles. His yellow eyes are piercing, his teeth shining and face swiped with glistening blood. He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving, his axe held low, elbow bent and bicep flexed and tense. Blood drips from the axe’s blade, flecks of red splattering the handle. 

Romeo swallows, thinking for a moment that Macabre would use the edge of that terrible bloodied axe to lift his chin, meet his gaze and lick his teeth and tip his chin up higher and higher until it hurt. They were monstrous, a rabid thing who had just taken down a pack of rats, reveling in it all the while with deadly glee. Their smile widens, the piercings in their dimples sparkling. 

They do not lift their axe, but reach out their free hand, extending it to Romeo. 

Romeo stares up at Macabre, following the strong straight lines of their arm, the steady shifting of their collarbone as they breathe, the flex of their stomach and thighs as they stand up taller, shadowing Romeo with a simple fluid motion. 

Romeo takes their hand and allows Macabre to pull him to his feet.

Taking a moment to look around, Romeo finally soaks in his surroundings. Piles of rat corpses, and a heavy electric energy hanging in the air as he and Macabre pant. Romeo, ignoring the grief building in his chest, lines up bodies. Stretching out his hand, he calls out his magic and speeds their return to the earth, mushrooms and flowers blooming as their bodies rot away in seconds. Even though killing anything felt rotten in his stomach, he understood that sometimes nature deserved a reset. Sometimes striking entire forests down to ash made the trees stronger. 

Macabre says nothing. 

Something about this process feels strange, like the two of them are not used to having companions in their day to day work. They walk circles around each other, keeping a slight distance, staying feet away and quiet. 

  
  


After Romeo takes care of the bodies, Macabre leads them to a pool in the cave to drink from and wash off the gore. Romeo watches Macabre, glistening in this terrible torchlight, the glow of the cave red like their skin and red like the blood stroked across it. Romeo looks down at his own hands, and realizes that there’s blood there too, sitting in his palm where he had broken his fall. He considers for a moment that he should touch the red spot, that he should lick it, should redden both his hands and mark his face like battle-paint with the gore.

  
  


Stepping up to the edge of the pool, Romeo peers downwards and sinks to his knees, still catching his breath but copying Macabre as they kneel to clean their weapon. Inside the pool he can see himself, a warped reflection of his face, rippling and bending on its surface. His ghostly horns sway with the motion of the water, his pink skin stained red from blood even redder from the dim firelight.

_ Monster, _ he thinks to himself. 

The water’s ripples get rougher as Macabre scoops their hands into the water. They clean their arms, and splash water on their face, scrubbing the drying blood from their cheeks. Silhouetted by the amber light, they look almost… soft, their long hair tucked gently behind their ear. They take particular care with their hair, washing it where it needs, brushing their fingers through it. Like he’s in a trance, Romeo watches them carefully comb their fingers through their long locks, untangling a small bit of debris, smoothing the hair back off their forehead and away from their horns. It shimmers as they flick the weight of it behind them, falling across their back. 

Entranced, Romeo forgets for a moment that his horns are ugly, that  _ he _ is ugly. He can only think of the red tiefling before him, drenched in shadows and torchlight.  _ Macabre looks beautiful.  _

He is enraptured by their movements, being beautiful and bloodied, all at once.

Romeo digs his nails into his palms, scrubbing them clean, and pulls his hands out to dry them along the inside of his tunic.

  
  


Macabre has already risen to his feet. 

“Shall we?”

  
  


💮💮💮💮💮

  
  


That night, they decide to split rooms. Romeo quickly gathers his things and moves them to the new room, a small single down the hall. The weather is getting cold again, the sun setting, as he changes out of his bloodied clothes. He looks at his robes and sighs. A proper washing would be better than prestidigitation, but he will live.  _ Another day down. _

Downstairs, a weighty coin purse tossed at him out of nowhere had made Romeo nearly jump out of his skin. Macabre laughs, shaking their head. “It’s for today.” 

  
  


“Do… you think that I did okay? You healed up well, I’m just hoping I was helpful,” Romeo questions. 

“You’re a good fighter and a better healer. It takes a lot to impress me, though.” Macabre smiles.

  
  


Romeo almost rolls his eyes. “At least you didn’t need saving.”

“Watch it,” they warn, smiling.

But they are kind to him, then. They sit down, and share a meal, and Macabre goes on long diatribes about his kills before they met. Romeo gets a full recap of the journey that led them to the direwolves, and Romeo says a little bit about his journey before he got to the mountains.

“I was almost lost,” Romeo admits, sighing. 

“Well, I don’t usually turn up almost dead. So we both got lucky. You can stick around.”

  
  


Conversation continues throughout the night and it feels... easy. Macabre seems relaxed, much more so than yesterday. They tell their stories easily, flourishing and chuckling. They lounge back in their chair and hike up their black skirt, twirling their wrists and waving their hands to illustrate. Their size and appearance seemed so intimidating at first, but after today Romeo feels almost comforted by their presence. After a few hours of drinking ale and mead, the tavern starts to fill with a cast of characters all pulled in by Macabre’s orbit.  _ Of course they are, _ Romeo thinks.  _ They’re magnetic.  _

  
  


And Macabre actually seems interested in him, despite their callousness. Their crooked smile tilts across their face and glints a bit in the light as they ask Romeo short, quick questions, waiting and the smile widening as Romeo responds. Looking into their eyes is like being shot straight through, and Romeo remembers the gentle heat of their body behind them this morning, small flesh memories spiking his nerves. Romeo isn’t sure if all of their curiosity is sarcasm, but has a feeling that it might be. Somewhat.

As the liquor flows and night grows longer, a particular mustachioed bard draws Macabre’s attention. Romeo does his best to look away, but the figure has been sitting near them for a while, and sidelong glances at the two of them were unsubtle at best. Before long, Macabre is making eyes at the musician right back, and with a quick thump on the table, they ask Romeo his intentions.

“So what are you doing tonight, then?” 

“I’m just... watching. I’ve never been out so far, so I’m learning. It’s interesting.”

“So you like to watch?” They wink, and Romeo blushes deeply pink.

“I’m learning that I do,” Romeo replies, biting a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth. 

“You’re learning pretty fast, aren’t you?” Macabre replies, smiling. That seems enough to sate them, and they take a long sip of their ale, refusing to break eye contact until the pint is dry. They nod, pick up their tankard, and stand.

“See you later.”

They stalk off to refill their drink, intercepting the bard on the way to the barkeep.

Romeo returns to nursing his own drink, but keeps catching glances of Macabre and the bard, laughing, the two of them drawing closer and closer. Macabre was a magnet, just standing there with his flowing hair as the smaller slowly folded into them, touching their arm and laughing. Romeo wasn’t close enough to see the creases in the their eyes, but he knew they were there. Romeo drops his eyes to the floor, shuffling his feet. Macabre’s smile was radiant.

Romeo walks up to the bar, ready to turn in for the night. As he waits to pay his tab, he overhears the two men talking with their backs turned to him.

“What,  _ him _ ??? No, I barely know him,” Macabre says. Their companion chuckles, mumbling something in a lilting accent that makes Macabre’s laugh gasp out half-hearted. 

“He’s nothing.”

Romeo’s hands freeze as his blood runs cold.

After quietly paying his tab and returning his mugs, Romeo heads back up to his room. Creaking up those same cold stairs, drafty air floating around his ankles and chilling his hands and feet, he feels almost more adrift than he did in that cold forest. He passes down the hall. pretending that he doesn’t hear the booming red laughter from the bar behind him as he retreats, and pushes inside his room. 

He undresses, getting ready for bed, running through the same routines he always has. There is a meditation in his rituals, and he will not be thinking about any warm red tieflings if he is moving too fast to think. 

He stands in front of the mirror in his bedclothes for a moment, a soft ticking from a clock on the small mantle behind him counting down the time. There’s no laughter in here, only quiet. In the mirror, his eyes look paler than usual. His skin feels like porcelain, his freckles fake. His horns…

_ “He’s nothing.” _

He had been told this before, But he wasn’t always told that, not in so many words. His parents were polite and loving. Their human ears and human teeth and human lack-of-horns told him that he was fine, that he was beautiful, that he was their son and that they loved him. But they also said small things, the kind of tiny sparks that lit self-loathing fires inside himself that burned him down to ashes. “Just… watch out for your horns,” they said. “Stay inside,” they protested when visitors came to call. But the comments built and built, and in him burned a pyre ever-fed and ever-blazing. His self loathing was everything about his devilish heritage that he hated. He imagined it was just as difficult for his parents to look upon him and say they loved him. That was the whole reason he left.

He turns away from the mirror, crawling into bed. 

He doesn’t know what to think. No amount of saving another tiefling would make him  _ something. _ He would stay horned and devilish, freakishly pink. Unloveable. 

But he thinks of Macabre’s horns in the torchlight, and of the warm gentle glow of their wettened skin in the dark cave, and of the way they snore. The way they pulled him in. 

As he drifts off to sleep, he feels very, very cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;3


End file.
